


Caridan Icebreaker

by virusq



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virusq/pseuds/virusq
Summary: The humanoid bartender has been watching her all night. He scratches his head and washes his hands and cleans a glass. The glass is spotless already, serviced by droids to maintain sanitation standards set by several galactic provisioning unions. But here he is, thick hands, grey skin, wiping a glass down.“You’re scaring him,” Karrde chastises gently into his drink.“Good,” Mara retorts.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	Caridan Icebreaker

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of goals for this fic. None of them landed. Still seems tolerable.
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The bartender sets a drink down in front of Mara Jade. The warm green liquid attempts to slosh out of the glass, contained by its own viscosity.

Mara lifts an eyebrow at the bartender, a Bothan woman who offers her a non-committal nod toward the other end of the bar. A group of young women dance a little too close together and offer Mara a collective giggle as they wave at her. Mara lifts the drink as a form of acknowledgement, then returns it to the bar.

“Thanks, I hate it,” Mara states through a thin smile, dismissing it as quickly as she dismisses them.

Beside her, Talon Karrde steals the glass and inspects the contents with a practiced sniff. A thick eyebrow lifts in pleasant surprise.

“Excellent taste,” he comments, knocking back the shot. The glass clinks softly as he returns it to the bar.

A Twi’lek businessman across the bar shifts his tone from conversational to challenging. Mara’s body language instantly hones in on the transaction.

“Not interested,” she mutters belatedly.

“Too bad,” Karrde hums in agreeance. “The selection is ... tolerable.”

Mara shoots him a look. He’s not talking about the alcohol.

The crimelord’s wry smile disappears into a ring of froth as he lifts his own mug, obscuring a majority of his expression.

The second bartender, a humanoid male, paces. It makes the hair on the back of Mara’s neck rise.

Her mark, the Twi’lek businessman, is organizing a deal and it’s near impossible to pick out the details while the male bartender mills about frantically, ebbing her patience from the periphery.  
It makes her anxious.

The humanoid bartender has been watching her all night. He scratches his head and washes his hands and cleans a glass. The glass is spotless already, serviced by droids to maintain sanitation standards set by several galactic provisioning unions. But here he is, thick hands, grey skin, wiping a glass down.

“You’re scaring him,” Karrde chastises gently into his drink.

“Good,” Mara retorts.

Mara’s a tightly wound spring in a tiny package but the cantina environment amplifies her intensity. She feels like she’s about to explode across the bar; a high powered coil of energy, bottled up in a dark green jumpsuit, shaken until aggravated, and left precariously on a barstool.

Any moment now, an unsuspecting suitor will commit to the terrible act of tapping her on the shoulder and she’ll pop -- feet and claws and curses.

Karrde sips his drink, all-too-comfortable in this chaotic element.

The Twi’lek drops his drink on the bar and Mara realizes Karrde wasn’t referring to the shifty bartender.

The Twi’lek’s voice raises and lowers as he realizes the attention he’s drawing. He notices Mara and adjusts his collar uncomfortably before returning to his conversation.

“Imperial.”

Mara’s attention returns to her companion. “What?”

Karrde sets his drink on the bar and dabs foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. He gestures toward the group of women with a discreet elbow-tilt. “The blond.”

Mara allows herself a second glance at the interested party. One of the girls sports short, platinum blond hair, and a regulation-standard weariness of her surroundings. The girl offers her a smile and Mara curses, quickly redirecting her gaze to the empty shot glass before her.

“Imperial navy,” Karrde clarifies.

Mara fidgets with her glass, the surface still warm to the touch. A hard spirit. Caridan. Potent. Conversational. Served warm to amplify the bouquet. An icebreaker for naval cadets on shore leave. She can smell the woodsy notes now that she deems it worthy of attention.

Any second now, the blond is going to tap her on the shoulder. That could be … tolerable. Better for dodging a tail. If she plays it right, she can walk right past the Twi’lek without a hint of suspicion.

“It appears your evening just freed up.”

Mara looks up at Karrde, confused.

His face is curious, resigned. He rises from his seat and drops a cred-stick on the bar. “Your man just left,” he explains.

Mara pivots in her seat and curses at the space formerly occupied by the Twi'lek. She pins Karrde with a feral scowl.

Fearless, he leans in and pecks her on the cheek. His mustache brushes her skin and her anger flashes. “The bartender.”

She’s about to throw him over the bar for brazenly invading her personal space when she realizes the bartender’s busy hands have disappeared from sight. The being, hovering over the carbine under the bar, is watching her nervously.

Karrde retreats before she can slap him. She fumes, irritated by how easily he switched roles with her. It’s her job to track the businessman; she hates playing the bubbly distraction.

The Bothan rounds up their glasses as he exits.

“Wait,” Mara says to the woman, breaking eye contact with the armed and anxious bartender watching her. “I’d love another.”

A soft smile sells the lie.

The woman replaces the shot.

Mara eyes the Caridan Icebreaker, wondering if the cocktail is as effective as she remembers it. Honestly, she doesn’t remember much from the last one: the cadets were cute and the challenge was simple. She allowed herself a few extra drinks and a full dance card.

Well, she has to distract the bartender anyway.

The blond makes her way across the floor and leans in meekly. “Care to join us?”

Mara downs the shot.

It’s exactly as she remembers it.


End file.
